Colors: Midnight Blue Yearning
by Liv Wilder
Summary: Follow-up to 'The Thin Blue Line'. Takes place approx. six months later. "You her partner?" asks the brusque EMT, stopping to glance at your Kevlar midway through rattling off his assessment of Kate's condition to his co-worker, clearly missing the 'Writer' sign plastered on the front of your vest. "Husband. I'm her husband. And it's Kate. Her name is Kate." COMPLETE


_A/N: Follow-up to 'The Thin Blue Line'. Takes place about six months later. A little angsty to begin. But all's well that end's well. _

* * *

"_The storms of life are gonna blow through, baby_

_You know we've all seen a cloud or two_

_But I meant it when I promised I would have your back through sky black or blue."_

_**-Lady Antebellum**__, "Can't Stand The Rain"_

* * *

_**Midnight Blue Yearning**_

"She's not even supposed to be here!" you yell, blood pumping thick and sticky, warm and wet, up between the webbing of your fingers as you press the soft pad of fabric to her abdomen, trying to walk the fine line between sufficient pressure to staunch the bleeding while doing nothing that could harm the baby. "She wanted shrimp paste from the Chinese market. I was supposed to pick it up last night, but I forgot," you ramble on through blind panic, hands shaking as you kneel beside her on the ground.

"Ahhh," she moans, arching up over her belly, the pain ripping through her body just like the knife had.

"Kate, hold on, honey. Okay? Paramedics are on their way," you tell her, trying to get her to stay calm, her own heart beating too rapidly, pumping the blood around her body too fast. "Ryan, where the hell is that bus?" you yell, more warmth and wetness soaking your fingers, making them slip against the taught, hard mound of her stomach.

A crowd has gathered, anonymous faces that lurk on the periphery of your vision - pointing, staring, chattering people - and you wonder if he is still among them, staying close to admire his handiwork, bear witness to the chaos and pain he has created. But you pay them no heed other than that vague, terrible speculation, your focus narrowed to the woman before you; the life you must save.

A second sector car, from the Conditions Unit this time, out on the streets to deal with quality of life issues like loud music and disorderly groups, pulls up and Esposito directs them to mount the curb, creating a barrier, a screen, between you and the gathering crowd.

Esposito raises his hand in thanks, while Ryan calls Central Dispatch again, his own voice almost as frantic as yours. The blue and red of the cherry bar on the squad car pulled up on the opposite side washes your faces with hideous, life-sapping color, over and over again, adding to the chaos and panic of the scene.

"Twelve-Squad to Central. 10-57. Second call for ambulance. Verify. Officer down. Corner of Mulberry and Canal. Female, 36 weeks pregnant, stab wound to the abdomen. Heavy bleeder. We need that bus now. Advise ETA?"

"10-4 Twelve-Squad. Standby," crackles the disembodied voice of the dispatcher.

"Copy that Central. Twelve-Squad standing by," replies Ryan, locking eyes with you and shaking his head, his fingers beating out a fast, nervous rhythm against his thigh.

* * *

"Castle," whispers Kate, her mouth dry, as she tries to raise her head from the jacket you've folded beneath her on the ground. "Remember the names we picked out?" she utters thinly, eyes bright and shiny with tears as she clutches your bare forearm.

"Kate, just take it easy. You're going to be fine. You and the baby are going to be just fine. Focus on your breathing for me. Okay? The ambulance is on its way," you tell her, stroking your fingers gently over her hair with the less bloody of your two hands. "Start narrowing down that list of baby names 'cause it looks like we might need one a little sooner than we thought," you tell her, meeting her gaze with a weak smile and then glancing away again, up the street, down the street, your mind pulled in so many different directions, this horror show scattering your heart to the four winds.

Finally the wail you've been waiting for, echoing in the distance, and a flood of relief passes through you like a shiver.

"_See_," you tell Kate, holding the wadded up onesie in place, the pale lemon terrycloth now soaked a deep red, the swing-tag still dangling off one tiny candy-striped foot. "Not long now," you promise.

The _Bonpoint_ shopping bag lies discarded to one side. You snatch the plush white bunny rabbit from the open maw of the bag, stuff it into your pocket like a lucky charm, watching helplessly as the high-end French baby store bag catches a puff of wind and skitters off down the sidewalk, spewing the paper sales receipt as it tumbles head-over-heels across the asphalt to join the flotilla of less salubrious trash that clogs the dirty nooks and crannies on this stretch of Mulberry Street.

The EMS rig pulls to a screeching halt outside an Asian deli. Putrid puddles of greasy water choke the gutter out front, coating the curb with fatty liquid when the ambulance rocks to a halt. You think about germs, about the dirty ground Kate is lying on right now, and the start in life you both wanted for your child, about the brand new nursery you created together, with its midnight blue ceiling, the star array that acts like a night light, the moon Kate wanted you to place just so, how you almost fell off the ladder when she told you, _'No, over a bit more, Castle. He needs to be able to see it from the crib'_.

You feel nauseous and you want to cry, but you fight down both urges for her sake.

* * *

"Can you hear me, hon?" asks the EMS tech, dropping to his knees beside both of you to begin his initial assessment, his heavy bag hitting the ground with a thud. "Okay, we have a female stab victim, approximately thirty-four weeks gestation…"

"Thirty-six. She's at thirty-six," you correct, holding Kate's hand, your own stained bright red with her blood; fast drying and sticky in the creases between your fingers, outlining the cuticles above each nail with violent drama.

"You her partner?" asks the brusque EMT, stopping to glance at your Kevlar midway through rattling off his assessment of Kate's condition to his co-worker, clearly missing the 'Writer' sign plastered on the front of the vest.

"Husband. I'm her husband. And it's Kate. Her name is Kate."

The paramedic nods and then turns away to his partner.

"Okay, we need to get her on oxygen right away, and then I want her on the spinal board, Harry. And get me some blankets. Take her blood pressure and hook up an IV of normal saline solution. She's lost a lot of fluid," he instructs his partner, gently peeling your stiffened fingers away so he can remove the soaked onesie from her belly to get a better look at the stab wound.

The pitiful item of babywear lies discarded on the ground, now a bloody mess, and you look away. Your baby will never wear it, though it may have saved your wife's life. Maybe Kate was right, you think guiltily, when she insisted it was bad luck to buy things for the baby before it arrives. Another thing that might be your fault.

"Pass me a Hydrogel dressing. Four by four," he instructs, hurriedly grabbing the moist bulky occlusive dressing his partner hands him, unwrapping it and carefully applying it to cover Kate's wound.

He then begins a brief rundown for your benefit, explaining what they are about to do – maintaining oxygen supply both to mother and fetus a key first line response in penetrating stab wounds, uterine displacement fundamental to increase cardiac output and restore circulation in instances like these. The words swirl in a dizzying jumble inside your over-taxed brain, leaving you in need of asking him to repeat himself, to explain in simpler terms, save for the fact that you know there simply isn't time.

"We're going to stabilize Kate's breathing, and then we're going to tilt her onto her left side once we get her on the spinal board. It might look a little strange, but trust me, it's gonna help with circulation and maintain blood flow to the uterus."

* * *

Once she's loaded onto the back of the ambulance Kate's condition takes a turn for the worse. You watch as a phalanx of cops secure the scene of the stabbing, white and blue tape fluttering in the early evening breeze, taped off to protect the perimeter, a canvas beginning, cameras flashing. You know the drill, but then so did she and it didn't save her from this.

"Okay, blood pressure's crashing and her pulse is racing. I've got seventy over fifty. She's going into hypovolemic shock. We need to get her to the hospital asap."

"Her OB GYN is based at Beth Israel," you inform the driver.

"Sir…"

"Rick."

"Rick, your wife is gravely ill. We need to get her into surgery now if we have a chance of saving her life and the life of your baby."

"Fine. Do what you have to. Just, please, don't let her die," you plead.

"I don't intend to. Now, hop aboard, sir."

The last thing you see as the ambulance doors close are the gravely serious faces of Ryan and Esposito as they watch you depart with a solemn wave.

* * *

The ride to the hospital is the worst experience of déjà vu you're ever likely to have. You are transported you right back to that fateful day almost three years ago – to the hell of the cemetery, still grieving the death of Roy, the day you were catapulted into fighting the loss of a woman you had come to love but had no right to.

Only this time you do – she's your wife, she bears your name and she's carrying your child.

"Kate? Stay with me, Kate," you whisper again, like a prayer, a mantra. It worked before, let it work again. Let these be the magic words you plea-bargain with God. I'll be a better man, I can _be_ a better man, you promise, if only…give me that chance, because without her I am _nothing_ now, you tell your God, over and over.

"I love you, Kate. Come on. Fight, baby. Please?" you beseech her, clutching her pale, cold hand in your own hot, sticky one, as the paramedic removes the oxygen mask and places an Ambu bag over her face, beginning to squeeze out a life-maintaining rhythm.

You meet the E.R. Attending at the door. They're expecting you, the rush along the corridor is the same, you've been here before, the mound that is your child the biggest change to the landscape this time.

You run until you can't go any further, the gurney disappearing from sight through flapping doors that shut you off from your beloved Kate. The Attending is still with you and he's talking and you have to focus.

"We'll perform a celiotomy in the first instance, repair any damage we find in the abdominal cavity. This late in pregnancy, a stab wound to the abdomen has a high chance of missing vital organs. But it will most likely involve the uterus, which is good news for your wife, but bad news for the baby. We want to rule out placental abruption, as well as any direct trauma to the baby or perforation of the amniotic sac. She isn't experiencing any contractions right now, which is a good sign…"

You stand on rubbery legs listening to the doctor rattle off the immediate plan of action, trying to force your brain to take it all in so that you can advocate as best you can for your wife and unborn child.

"Our goal is to keep that baby in there as long possible. We'll know more once we get her into the O.R. and get a better picture of just exactly what we're dealing with. All I can ask you to do right now is wait, Mr. Castle. I know that is hard. You have the toughest job of all of us. But your wife is in good hands. We have an excellent trauma team here and the neonatologist is on stand-by."

"How quickly will you know?"

"I'll come and find you just as soon as we do. But I need you to sign the consent for an emergency C-section in case things are worse than we expect."

"Can I be there…with her I mean?"

"There may not be time. And if there isn't, I hope you understand. We will do what's best for your wife and the baby, Mr. Castle. Please be assured of that."

* * *

"_Daddy?_"

Alexis' voice – thin, high, reedy, already tight with tears and panic - comes floating down the sterile hallway towards you, along with the girl herself, running, her arms outstretched, throwing herself at you, and it feels so good: her hug, that tight squeeze from thin arms pressing the life back into you, getting your blood pumping again, someone else to comfort rather than losing yourself to fear and self-pity.

"Where's Kate?" she asks, her pale, ice blue eyes thrown wide by fear. "Gram called. She said something was wrong, that you weren't making any sense. Is it the baby?"

"Come. Sit down and I'll explain," you say, drawing her off to the privacy of the lounge.

You sit close together, hands clutched in a tight little knot, yours scrubbed raw after a quick detour to the men's room, Kate's blood still lingering beneath a couple of your nails; a thin red line.

"So she wasn't even working tonight?"

"No. She had the evening off. Reduced hours. I was just seeing through a case with the guys. We were only a few blocks away when the call came in."

"What was she doing in China Town?"

"Grocery shopping. She had this…this craving for Thai and we'd run out of shrimp paste. I was supposed to pick it up yesterday, but I forgot. We were going to make dinner together. She wasn't even supposed to be there, Alexis. This is all _my fault_."

"No, dad. No, it's not. It's just random bad luck, okay? Wrong place. Wrong time. Beating yourself up over it won't help anyone. You have to focus on Kate and the baby right now. Have they told you anything?"

"She's being prepped for surgery. But they had to help her with her breathing in the back of the ambulance. Alexis…" you shake your head. "It was just like last time. I can't go through that again."

"You won't have to. She's going to be fine."

"Her lips were blue. And the blood…"

"Shhh, dad. Don't think even about that."

Ryan and Esposito come skidding down the hallway, their shoes squeaking on the shiny tile, and then they round the doorway into the visitor's lounge.

"How is she?" asks a breathless Ryan, hands on his knees as he bends to catch his breath.

"We don't know yet," answers Alexis, on your behalf. "They've taken her for surgery. We're waiting to hear."

"Uni's caught the guy a few blocks from the scene," blurts Esposito, and you see Ryan giving him a glare. "Found him wandering the streets talking to himself. Some wack job scumbag gone off his meds. Still had the knife in his hand, blood on his clothes, unopened packet of antipsychotics in his pocket. Slam dunk."

"Castle, they're bringing him here on a seventy-two hour hold for a psych eval," explains Ryan, watching you process this information.

"Here?" you say dully, shaking your head.

"Guy's got a history of abusing amphetamines, a couple of priors for aggravated assault. He's on his third strike with this one. No way he's ever getting out," Ryan reassures you.

"_Dammit!_" you curse, pounding your knee hard with your balled up fist, feeling the bite of pain shoot up your femur from your damaged knee, hating the randomness of this attack, the senseless, pointless, heinous fate of it all.

_Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong time._

You know the dangers, _Kate_ knows the dangers that come with her job and you both do your best to work around those, to be careful, to minimize. But something like this? There _is_ no planning for a random attack out on the street by some anonymous crazy.

"She was supposed to stop work next week. We were going out to the Hamptons to spend a few days together before the baby comes. How did this happen?" you ask, dropping you head into your hands, feeling like screaming until your lungs burst.

No one answers you, all out of explanations for this senseless act of violence.

"She has to pull through. I can't do this without her," you declare, looking down at the floor and rubbing the back of your neck, while the boys stand around awkwardly not knowing what to say.

"Dad?" whispers Alexis, dropping to her knees in front of you. "You have to think positively," she urges, her small hands framing your face, tears in her eyes, but a strength in her voice that you cling to. "Kate's going to be fine and the baby is going to be fine too. Just wait and see. You'll be complaining about night feeds in a few days time," she half-laughs, her tears finally spilling over to course down her cheeks as she pulls you into a fierce hug.

* * *

Time lingers, dragging its feet like a stroppy teen then suddenly speeds up, racing, and you realize an hour has passed in what seems like the last five minutes. It's like Alice in Wonderland, this flexing and contracting of time, and you blink rapidly, squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your hands into the orbits of your skull until your vision is showered with stars, and then you look at the clock once more, midnight blue rushing up to meet you.

You remember a quote from Lewis Carroll: _"My dear, here we must run as fast as we can, just to stay in place. And if you wish to go anywhere you must run twice as fast as that."_

The riddle seems apt, the book now sitting on the baby's nursery shelf along with all the others Alexis has decided to hand down to her half-brother or sister. You remember the plush toy in your pocket - the white rabbit - and you reach for it, fingering its velvety softness with a sense of something slotting into place; a talisman.

As time drags on, you don't know what to do with yourself. You miss her presence, her voice, her touch, with a physical yearning you've never experienced before. You can barely remember the days before Kate anymore; how empty and pointless that life seems now.

"I need some air," you say, standing abruptly, startling Gates and Ryan in the process, who almost seem to slumber with their eyes open; a comforting, benign presence – family in all but blood and name.

Lanie and Esposito are whispering out in the hallway. You witness Esposito pulling Lanie into a tight embrace and you fear the worst. Her superior knowledge making you fearful of spending any time alone with her, holding the facts at bay, terrified they will outperform even _your_ horrendously vivid imagination today.

"Castle?" whispers Lanie, as you pass by, reaching out to touch your arm.

"Need some air," you reply, a thing in motion.

* * *

You head up to the roof and solitude. The sky outside is perfection – a deep, vivid, velvety blue, tipping over into a blackness so deep and all-encompassing that it feels like your soul. The city lighting is no match for the last azure hues that spill up from the horizon to grade the darkness close to you in brilliant, violet celestial tones, cornflower blues and indigo highlights that hint at worlds, and maybe even beings, bigger than you and this earth and the painful place your heart now inhabits.

You imagine you can see the face of your child out there, dancing among the stars. The 3D scan you had done - the tiny snub nose, the full cherry lips, your hopes for a child made in her mother's image; a delicate, radiant, smiling beauty with a secret in her soul. Your heart cracks and the tears come - wretched, heaving, exhausting tears that leave you hollow and yawning and empty. The loss would be total, you realize, complete, a shattering you would never come back from.

"They're calling for you," says a breathless male voice, pulling you back from the brink.

It's Ryan, red-faced and out of breath, bouncing on the spot with nervous energy.

You run past him, bolt down the stairs that will take you to the elevator on the top floor, pacing and dancing in front of it until the doors open and you both rush in together.

"Anything?" you ask Ryan, your face ashen despite the spike in your heart rate, as you stab at the control panel with too fat, clumsy fingers aiming for the lower level.

He shakes his head.

"Next of kin only. Dr. Carter's waiting for you downstairs."

"Kate will kill me if she finds out I wandered off," you attempt to joke, running a hand through your hair, hoping she will give you merry hell for this, hoping, hoping, she's still in a position to.

* * *

He's there by the elevator, a placid smile on his face that you decide to read as good news. Alexis hovers by his side, her arms wrapped tightly around her body.

"Well?" you blurt, rushing up to the doctor.

"Surgery went well. We managed to stop the bleeding. But we did find a small tear in the amniotic sac. Rather than risk infection, we performed a cesarean section. I'm sorry there wasn't time to get you suited up."

"My wife?" you ask, gripping the doctor's arm.

"Your wife is one tough lady. She needed a few units of blood, but other than that, she's out of the woods. She should be coming round in the next fifteen minutes or so. They're moving her to Recovery as we speak."

"And the baby?" you hear Alexis ask, your brain only capable of dealing with one thing at a time.

"Healthy, a little small, but breathing on his own. We're transferring him to the NICU as a precaution until we can get him properly assessed."

"_Him?_" you whimper, using your hands to cover your mouth and choke back a sob of relief.

"I'm sorry. Yes, I should have said. Congratulations, Mr. Castle. You have a son."

Suddenly there are people all around you, hugging, crying, laughing and sobbing, and the relief you feel is overwhelming, almost debilitating. You fight to stay on your feet lest you slide down a wall and onto the floor.

"Can I see her?" you manage to pant, as tears blind you and arms surround you, squeezing tight, whispering words of thanks and encouragement and joy.

"Of course. Come with me. Just Mr. Castle for now," says the doctor, and Alexis gives you the push you need when you hesitate.

"I'll be right here, dad. Waiting to see my baby brother," she tells you, her face a perfect picture of love and that goodness you so admire in her.

* * *

Kate is being extubated when you reach Recovery, and you hear her cough, the nurse talking calmly to her and then settling her back in bed with an oxygen mask to keep her comfortable and reduce the risk of post-operative nausea.

Her eyes are closed when you enter the room, the steady beep from the monitor matching the rise and fall of her chest.

"Kate?" you whisper, finally getting up the nerve to come close, to stand by her bedside in a way you were denied last time around, making certain to take up your rightful place today.

"Mmm," she murmurs listlessly, eyelids twitching, lashes feathering against her pale, bloodless skin as she fights her way back to consciousness.

"Hey, there," you sing quietly, taking her hand with care, laying it flat in your palm to avoid the Venflon cannula attached to the back of her hand. "Can you hear me?"

Kate tugs at the mask, and the nurse helps to move it aside, giving you both a moment alone together.

"Castle?" she whispers dryly, her lips chapped and throat raw, moving her head from side to side on the pillow, restlessly.

"I'm here. I'm right here," you reassure her, and her eyes flutter open, blinking shut again under the flare of hospital lights.

"Baby?" she murmurs, her free hand patting the covers in panic.

"Shhh. Baby's fine," you whisper back, leaning in close to kiss her forehead. "We have a son, Kate," you tell her with wonder. "A little boy. Thank you so much," you gush, attacked by a sudden flood of emotion and gratitude.

You kiss her again, and her eyes open clearly this time, hold yours for just a second and she smiles, she smiles that beautiful smile, before they close again and she drifts off to sleep.

* * *

Outside the nursery, you stand alone, peering through the glass at Baby Castle, his tiny head encased in a pale blue cap, the white velvet rabbit standing guard at the head of his crib. He squirms inside the incubator, little legs thrashing, and then he suddenly stretches, his whole body going rigid, arms and legs twitching, fingers outstretched like starfish in brief spasm, before he relaxes with an exhausted sigh, red-faced, and you laugh. You laugh and then you start to cry - great gulping, choking sobs for all that you have right now and all that you almost, could have lost tonight - your beautiful family, your amazing wife and this little boy you can't wait to meet and love and get to know.

"He has your nose," you hear an impish voice say, and you turn to find your daughter standing grinning into the glass, looking like she just fell in love for the very first time.

"No, he's way cuter than that. Look at his feet though. Big feet just like Kate," you grin. "He's going to be tall."

"I'm telling her you said that," teases Alexis, raising her fingers is a little wave.

"I don't care. I'm just glad that you can," you tell Alexis honestly, reaching for her hand.

"Dad, everything is okay," she reminds you, rubbing your back, laying her head on your shoulder.

"I know. I know," you repeat, trying to drum it into your own thick skull so that you actually believe it.

"What was the final shortlist for boys names?" she asks, focusing on the here and now.

"Eh…Kate had the pick of boys names. She'd narrowed it down to Lucas a—and Nathan and maybe Brody, I think."

"Hard naming such a little guy. Big responsibility," says Alexis, touching her fingers to the glass, a dreamy smile on her face. "When do you think we'll get to see him properly?"

"They have some tests to do. But if he feeds okay, they said they'd move him downstairs when his mom comes out of Recovery."

"Kate's a mom," says Alexis, smiling like a loon.

"Kate's been a mom for a little while now, pumpkin," you remind your daughter, stroking her hair as she smiles and nods.

"She's a great mom."

* * *

The private room on the maternity floor is bright and happy and sparklingly clean, and you can almost begin to forget the darkness of the night before. Kate slept for several hours, waking only intermittently, needing only your brief reassurance that everything was okay to help her drift off again.

"Hey, beautiful," you smile, when she opens her eyes and you see a new light there, the drugged film gone, a strength and determination giving her clarity.

"What time is it?" she asks, attempting to stretch and then wincing when the pain from her incision hits and she's reminded why she's here and exactly what transpired over the last twelve hours.

"Still early. Just before eight. You slept longer this time. How're you feeling?"

"Thirsty. And sore," she admits, and you nod, pressing the call button to get her some water.

"I'm sorry. We'll get you some meds. It's super hot in here."

"How's…?" she asks, that look of terror returning briefly to her eyes, until you smile this goofy grin that she watches appear on your face with wonder. "That cute, huh?" she grins back at you, both looking at one another as if this is the smartest thing you ever did: making your little boy together.

"He's…" you shake your head, a writer at a loss for words to describe your son to his mother. "He's just perfect, Kate. And thank god he looks like you," you laugh, watching her suck up every little tidbit of information, her eyes filling with tears.

"Where is he? Castle, I need to see him," she sobs, just once, pressing her fingers to her mouth to hold back anymore sound.

"Shhh, baby, it's okay," you soothe, leaning in close to dry her tears with your thumb.

"Damn hormones," she grumbles, swiping at her own damp cheeks and forcing a smile.

Your beautiful, brave soldier.

"He's on his way down. Change of shift and then they'll bring him straight down, I promise," you assure her, stroking her hair.

"Is he…? Everything's okay, right?"

"Perfect, Kate. You did an amazing job."

"Castle, I was so scared," she whispers, the nightmare of last night floating back to the surface, passing over both your faces like a shadow.

"I know. Me too," you admit, sharing the pain, squeezing her hand to comfort her. "But it's over now. Get some rest. Junior's going to be here in no time, and he's going to want his mamma," you tell her, watching her listen to the words and then accept that what you're saying is real.

"How's Alexis?"

"In love with her little brother. You should have seen her, Kate. Nose pressed up against the glass like she was five years old."

"And Martha?"

"Flying home from Cabo with a piñata and a mariachi band as we speak. Should get in in a few hours."

"Did you pick a name yet?"

"No, of course not. Not without you. Besides, boys names were your thing, remember."

"Then I have a new one," she tells you, taking a sip from the cup of water the nurse gives you to feed to her.

"A new one? Not from the shortlist?"

"No. It came to me out on the street last night when we were waiting for the ambulance and you said to narrow it down. I think we should name him after your dad, Castle. Jackson. Jack for short. What do you think?"

She surprises you constantly, this woman, even after all this time.

"I think I love you more than anything in the world. I think I'll never stop loving you, Katherine Beckett-Castle. I think it's perfect for our little man, our little fighter. I can't wait for you to meet him."

* * *

It doesn't take long after that.

"Here he is," announces a plum, pretty little nurse, several minutes later, her cheerful tunic patterned with tiny teddy bears and shooting stars, all set against a background of the prettiest blue.

She wheels the clear plastic crib into the room and stations it next to the bed.

Kate's face is a picture of nervous anticipation, anxiety and excitement that you wish you could capture on camera. But she's reaching for her son and you have to help her and you want to hold him too. So you watch as the nurse carefully lifts the little bundle out of the crib, wrapped up in a blanket, and turns to hand him to you.

"Hey, Jack," you coo, smile as wide as the Holland Tunnel when you take the baby in your arms, his little body as light as a feather. "Come say hello to mommy," you whisper to the tiny boy, kissing his cheek as you move closer to the edge of the bed to sit down next to your wife.

"Kate, here's your son," you tell her, reverently handing the baby over, watching the flood of maternal love filling her eyes with such radiant warmth, easing some of the pain and fatigue that pales her skin.

She looks up at you, her smile this magnificent, sparkling vision, midnight blue and golden, the endless days of fun and love to come all written there on her face.

"Thank you," she whispers, reaching for your hand, tugging for you to come closer. "Thank you, Castle," she repeats, and you kiss her, a delicate gift of a kiss that you share between you, just like your son.

* * *

The baby sneezes and you both laugh in surprise, and it's the cutest thing you think you've ever seen or heard.

"Smile," you hear Alexis say, standing over near the door, her cell phone raised to take a picture.

"Hey, Alexis. Come meet your baby brother," says Kate, instantly welcoming and warmhearted, gone the spiky, sassy, reserved girl-detective you met almost seven years ago, and you marvel at the tight-knit little group that is your daughter, wife and son. "This is Jackson," you hear her say. "Jack, meet your big sister, Alexis."

You feel more blessed today than ever before in your life, and you shudder when you realize how things could so easily have ended in tragedy. You resolve to cherish each day, to be the better man you promised, to never waste a moment.

"Hey, daddy?" calls your wife, grabbing your attention and breaking through your morbid thoughts. "Jack's trying to speak. Looks like he does take after you after all."

"A charmer, huh?" you joke, laughing when your daughter groans and rolls her eyes.

"A talker, you mean," grins Alexis, marvelling as tiny fingers wrap around her pinkie and hold on tight.

"And ruggedly handsome, that's for sure," says Kate, giving you a wink, as she strokes the baby's cheek with her finger, her touch lighter than a feather, overflowing with love.

* * *

_**Midnight blue**, noun:_ a dark shade of blue named for its resemblance to the color of a moonlit night sky on or near the night of a full moon. Midnight blue is the color of a vat full of indigo dye; therefore, midnight blue may also be considered a dark shade of indigo. Midnight blue is identifiably blue to the eye in sun-light or full-spectrum light, but can appear black under artificial lighting. It is similar to navy, which is a also a dark blue. The first recorded use of _midnight_ as a color name in English was in 1915. _Midnight_ is also a color of Crayola crayon, formerly known as Prussian Blue.

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_A/N: Hope you survived that rollercoaster. Can I just say, before anyone else does, that I know Jackson Hunt is probably not Castle's dad's real name. Thanks for reading. Liv_


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